Cursed
by corneroffandom
Summary: Ricardo hasn't felt right since taking the job as Del Rio's personal ring announcer.


A/N: Stupid little thing I decided to write for Halloween. Who knows, I may write more for this later.

_Ricardo Rodriguez stares down at the mask that'd been a part of his wrestling career for years, smiling nostalgically as he places it in a plastic storage box, wanting to make sure it's taken well care of while not in use. He's going to miss it but it's unnecessary now that he will mainly be Alberto Del Rio's ring announcer. And that's ok, for now- hopefully this opportunity will be what he needs to get noticed by WWE officials as a legitimate wrestler in his own right eventually... and until then, he'd gladly help his new employer in all he'd need from him._

_But as he closes the lid on the box, a voice repeats over and over again: "You will regret this moment..."_

He sits up with a gasp, dark hair sticking to his forehead as a cold sweat beads along his skin. "What was that?" he mumbles, though he knows. He's had it intermittently through the years, always chalking it off as his subconscious' way of mocking him whenever he begins to miss wrestling regularly just a little too much. But... the few times he had competed since in tag team matches with El Patron and the very rare single match on his own, he hadn't felt the same. Things had been... different. He hadn't felt as coordinated or as confident. Why exactly, he's not sure, but something had changed.

He thinks nothing of it until one day he's wandering around the halls, waiting until he has to go out and ring announce Alberto to the ring, when AJ Lee comes seemingly out of nowhere and stops him, that creepy kind of smile she's become well-known for on her lips. "Ricardo," she greets him.

He blinks at her a time or two, inclining his head slightly. "Ms. Lee," he replies uncertainly, knowing that one wrong step could be detrimental to Del Rio's career. "Is there anything you need?"

Her smile only grows, somehow the girl starting to look like the cat that ate the canary. "Yes," she tells him softly. "I do need something."

How he goes from there, to in the ring against Sin Cara, wearing his old mask and wrestling gear, he's not sure. But yet again, something feels different. He feels... himself again, in a way. He still loses, unfortunately, but his ability is back. He can do everything he'd been able to do prior, as if the past two years had never happened. It's exhilarating, and he can't stop smirking as he announces Alberto to the ring later that evening.

AJ seems impressed with him as well, and she urges him to keep the mask handy, in case she ever needs him to perform again in the future. He agrees and packs it carefully amongst his things, just in case, hoping that soon he'll get another opportunity. The dreams worsen though, as time passes, and he doesn't understand why his emotions are so heightened about it all.

As days pass leading up to Halloween, he's growing more and more agitated, tired and stressed out, words echoing in his mind far too often and keeping him off of his game. _You will fail... you cannot succeed... _

"Are you alright?" Del Rio asks, eyebrow raised after he'd spent nearly a minute trying to get Ricardo's attention.

"Oh, si, El Patron, lo siento. What were you saying?" he replies, shaking his head.

Del Rio frowns at him for a moment before sighing, shifting some papers towards him. "Maybe you should get more sleep, Ricardo," he mumbles, impatiently tapping his fingers against the table as his ring announcer looks over the travel arrangements they'll need for the upcoming European tour.

"Si, you're right, El Patron," he grimaces, feeling bad for not giving the older man his full attention.

But that night, when he falls asleep, the dreams are horrible, playing nonstop in his mind. With a faint groan, he slowly sits up and scrubs his eyes, staring out the hotel room window at the full moon gleaming down upon his face. "I don't understand this," he sighs, padding through the hotel room to try to find a distraction. Deciding to double check his bag to make sure it's organized before the week's events, he unzips and stares down into it, grimacing as he sorts through the clothes and other things inside carefully. He blinks as his fingers graze the soft material of his mask, his dark eyes peering down at it fixedly as he pulls it from the confines of his bag. "Hmm."

Alberto's sleeping peacefully when he hears footsteps nearby, the floor creaking enough to cause him to stir slightly. "Ricardo?" he mumbles, struggling to open his eyes to see what the ring announcer is up to so close to his bed. He's barely lifted his head when fingers wrap around his throat, nails digging into his flesh as he begins to be choked out. He struggles and strains as his eyes finally shoot open, locking onto the masked individual looming over him, somehow familiar despite his not being able to see the other man's face. "Ricardo," he groans, trying to fight his way free, but he can't, energy already draining from him as he's at a severe disadvantage from the difference in their positions.

His punches and struggles only growing weaker, all he can do is look up into Ricardo's blank eyes, just visible behind the shadows of his mask, and wonder what the younger man'll do if he snaps out of- whatever this is, exactly- to find he'd attacked Alberto so savagely. Something wet drips upon his arm and he gasps, jerking slightly. Another drop, this time on his face, and he looks up to find that moisture is streaming down through the open places in his mask, realizing with a sinking feeling. _Ricardo's crying._ Not like the tears he'd overembellished weeks back to garner more sympathy and encourage Booker T to keep the Brogue Kick banned and further along their lawsuit, no, these are honest, helpless tears that splatter along Del Rio's skin.

It wakes him up, gives him a second wind. He lands a punch on the younger man's jaw that causes Ricardo's grip to weaken ever so slightly, allowing him to gasp in some air, reinvigorate him some. He strikes out with another punch and another, finally gaining enough distance between them to lunge out with a kick that cracks Ricardo in the skull and throws him off of the bed roughly. He can't worry about that right now, though, gasping and sputtering through the pain of what has to be numerous finger shaped bruises spreading along his throat right now.

Once he's caught his breath enough that the deep spots before his eyes has faded away for the most part, leaving him only a little dizzy, he rolls off of the bed and lands next to Ricardo, resting a hand on his cool arm. "It's ok, we'll... we'll figure this out," he groans, easing the man onto his back so he can look at him. "You'll be ok." He's just reached out for the mask when there's a sharp feeling of... unease... a sort of disquiet that makes him back away quickly from the piece of wrestling gear. Eyes narrowing, he stares at the red fabric, biting his lip as he once more grabs at it and pulls it clean off of the younger man's skull, scrunching it up in his fist. "Is this why you did that?" he demands of the unconscious man, grimacing as he pulls himself to his feet.

He's almost tempted to toss the mask, but his own Mexican heritage keeps him from doing something so impulsively. Just now, though, holding onto it, he feels uncomfortable, as if something's trying to take hold of him, tell him something. He looks down at Ricardo and shakes his head, watching him breathe for a bit before looking around. His only option is to tie the bedsheets around, tangling it around Ricardo's wrists and to the headboard, not sure if the ring announcer is back in control of himself or still... controlled by whatever's in this mask. Once he's seemingly secure, he stands slowly and, looking back only once, walks to the door, mask still tightly held in his fist.

Many Mexicans are traditionally Catholic so that is where he turns to, once he feels like he's properly distanced the mask and its influence from Ricardo. It takes a fair amount of time and phone calls to find a priest at this time of night willing to meet with him, but finally he arrives at a church a few towns over, an exhausted looking priest meeting him at the door. He takes one look at the mask and his face pales, ushering Alberto into the building.

"Lay it down on the alter," the middle-aged man urges him, collecting a few things before he returns to Alberto's side. Under his watchful gaze, the priest sprinkles holy water along the mask, murmuring under his breath as he touches it with a crucifix. Well over an hour passes, the man repeating this motion and the Latin over and over and over, until finally he looks up, wiping at his face. "I believe it's clean now."

Alberto stares at him, hesitantly reaching a hand out to the mask. This time, he feels nothing as he picks it up. It's a simple inanimate object once more, to his relief. "Thank you, Priest," he sighs, picking it back up off of the floor. After shaking his hand and offering a sizeable donation to the church, he leaves to return to the hotel room, his unconscious ring announcer and a few more hours of sleep before their next flight.

Ricardo's just stirring as he re-enters the room and the silence that follows is awkward, the younger man's eyes flicking from left to right as he watches Alberto walk over to the bed and untie the sheets, freeing him. The older man looks truly exhausted, dropping down against the mattress with a slight grimace. "I... what..." He pushes away from the bed, rubbing at his somewhat sore wrists and stares at the bruises staining his employer's throat just visible in the half-lit room. He chokes, his memory of the past few hours hazy and hard to grasp. "Did I do that to you?"

Alberto watches as he touches the side of his face, wincing when his fingers graze against his bruises. "And I did that to you," he responds lowly, holding up the mask. As Ricardo stares at it, an uncomfortable, pained look on his face, Alberto sighs, holding it out to him. "I believe something dark possessed this mask, and began controlling you when you put it on. I handled it though. It's clean now." He smiles faintly as the ring announcer leans out and takes it, staring down at the deceptively innocent looking thing.

"I'm so sorry," he sighs, shaking his head. "I don't... I don't even know what happened."

"Don't worry about it," Alberto tells him lowly. "Just go sleep now. It's over."

Ricardo nods, sheepishly following his employer's commands. After the mask is back in his bag and he's fast asleep, Alberto sinks into his own bed and stares at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to take him over too.

He's just dozed off when he hears a faint whisper. _The spirit of the mask can't be killed so easily. When you free him, he will resume being what he's always meant to be. I will wait. _

He stirs, but does not wake fully. When morning comes, he remembers very little of what had happened after he'd returned to the hotel. Life returns to normal for them both.

For now.


End file.
